Promising Angela (3 page)

He turned onto Elmwood Avenue, the last stretch. The six high-rise apartments of Elmwood Towers loomed ahead. Kent waited in Tower Three. Ben whispered a quick prayer of gratitude for the assisted-living apartments in each of those towers. It had taken some fancy footwork by New Beginnings’ owner Philip Wilder to get one quad in each of the retirement village’s apartment buildings designated for adults with handicaps, but what a service it was to those in the community who faced challenges.

Getting Kent into one of those apartments had done him so much good. The small measure of independence had boosted Kent’s confidence, built his self-esteem, and put him more on a level with his peers. What single man in his late twenties wanted to live at home with his mother?

Ben pulled into a visitor’s space, shut off the ignition, and picked up the pizza box. Hitting the automatic lock on his key chain, he turned toward Tower Three, but a glint of silver caught his eye. He stopped, turned, and stared.

Sure enough. The silver rocket—Angela’s car—sat six stalls over.

Angela popped the last bite of her fourth chocolate chip cookie into her mouth, swigged the final gulp from her half-pint carton of milk, and released a satisfied sigh. “Oh, Aunt Eileen, that was wonderful.” She patted her stomach, laughing. “But I think I’d better skip supper tonight! I’m going to waddle out of here!”

Eileen and her friend Alma, on the couch facing Angela across the low walnut table scattered with magazines, empty milk cartons, and cookie crumbs, both laughed. The older women exchanged winks.

“Now, Angela, when you look like me”—Eileen gave her own bulky midsection a two-handed squeeze—”you can worry about waddling. Until then, neither of us wants to hear about it!”

All three women laughed. When Angela arrived at her aunt’s apartment after work, Eileen had suggested taking the cookies to the foyer of Tower Three and sharing with a friend of hers who’d been down in the dumps since a hospital stay. At first Angela had balked, not willing to share Aunt Eileen with anyone else. But seeing Alma’s enjoyment of the cookies and conversation made her regret her selfishness. She had a lot to learn about reaching out to others, she realized.

Aunt Eileen would be a great teacher in that regard. Her mother’s older sister was unpretentious, warmhearted, and open, unlike the rest of Angela’s family. Eileen and Angela’s mother had grown up dirt-poor, but while Mother had sought riches in married life, Eileen had married a salesman who made little more than enough to pay the necessary bills. Uncle Stan had passed away years ago, leaving Eileen alone, yet she had never wallowed in self-pity. Angela held great admiration for her aunt, even though her parents often commented with a hint of disdain that their lifestyles didn’t “mesh.”

The smell of pizza wafted through the foyer, and Angela looked over her shoulder toward the double doors. She did a double take when she saw who carried the pizza. She leaped to her feet. “Ben?”

“Ben?” Eileen repeated, shooting Angela a smirky grin.

Angela felt her face flood with heat. How disconcerting to have him walk in after having spent a good fifteen minutes entertaining the two older ladies by describing his physical attributes and being teased about his Sunday invitation.

He glanced in her direction and imitated her double take, coming to an abrupt halt that nearly sent the pizza flying from his palm. Grabbing the box with both hands, he took two steps in her direction. A wary smile creased his face. “Angela … hi. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Angela brushed cookie crumbs from her lap. She hoped she didn’t have any crumbs on her face. “Ben, I’d like you to meet my aunt, Eileen Cassidy, and her friend Alma …?” To her embarrassment, she couldn’t remember Alma’s last name.

But Ben smiled. “Hello again, Mrs. Andrews. It’s good to see you home and looking well. Kent told me you had quite a time. And Mrs. Cassidy, nice to see you, too. Philip was just mentioning he needed to come by here and see what you’re up to.”

Angela swung her gaze back and forth, listening, her jaw hanging open. Eileen knew Ben?

Eileen laughed as she pushed to her feet, her eyes twinkling. “Oh, that Philip. He couldn’t take better care of me if he were my own son.”

Ben’s warm smile sent Angela’s heart pattering even though it was aimed at Eileen. “I know he thinks the world of you.” He paused, rocking on his heels, then took a hesitant step toward the elevators. “Well … I’d better go. Pizza’s getting cold, and I’m expected.”

“Bye, Ben!” Eileen called, waving a pudgy hand.

Alma added, “Have fun with Kent!”

The moment the elevator doors closed on Ben, Angela wheeled on her aunt. “Aunt Eileen! Why didn’t you tell me you knew Ben?”

Eileen sat back down, shrugging. She wore a look of innocence. “How was I to know the Ben you were talking about is the same Ben I know? There are a lot of Bens in the world.” Her sparkling eyes gave her away even before the giggled snort blasted out. “Of course I knew you were talking about Ben Atchison. What other Ben works at New Beginnings? He’s a wonderful young man, and I’m tickled pink you two have formed a friendship.”

Angela collapsed against the back of the couch. “I’d hardly call what we have a friendship … yet.” Her heart gave a hopeful flutter. “But—” She leaned forward, suddenly eager. “Tell me everything you know. Who is he meeting here? This Kent—is he an uncle?”

Alma shook her head, her wrinkled face sad. “No, honey, not an uncle. His cousin. A young man not much older than you.”

Angela shook her head as understanding dawned. These apartments housed retirement-age individuals except for those few apartments set aside for the special-needs community. Then that meant … She bit down on her lower lip as she glanced toward the elevator doors. Turning back to Alma, she said, “You mean his cousin is handicapped?”

“I’m afraid so.” Alma pursed her lips, her face creasing in disapproval. “The result of a drug overdose. He’d been perfectly healthy up to that time.” She shook her head, her chins quivering. “Such a waste …”

Angela swallowed. The cookies suddenly didn’t set so well. “So—so what’s wrong with Kent? What did the overdose do?”

Alma sighed. “Such a tragedy …” She leaned forward, licking her lips.

Eileen patted Alma’s hand. “We should be careful not to gossip.”

Alma’s cheeks mottled with pink. “Oh, well, I certainly wouldn’t want to do that….” She reached for another cookie.

Angela felt a little twinge of guilt for encouraging gossip. She’d indulged in more than her fair share of unnecessary talk over the years. But small wonder—Mother was so good at it. However, that wasn’t an excuse. Another habit she needed to break. She winged a silent prayer for God to keep her aimed in the right direction; then she returned her thoughts to Ben.

Her heart ached as things fell into place. Kent must be why Ben worked at New Beginnings. He had a personal stake in reaching out to those with disabilities. Something else struck hard, making her heart race. Kent’s disability was the result of drug use.
That could have been me…. Oh, thank You, Lord, that I didn’t go that far….

She stood again, forcing a smile to her lips. “Aunt Eileen, thank you for the cookies. And, Alma, I’m so glad I got to meet you.”

Alma nodded. “Oh, me, too, dear. You come see me again, will you?”

Angela took the wrinkled hand in her own. The loneliness in the old woman’s eyes pierced her heart. “Of course I will.” Who would have imagined Angela Fisher making a promise like that to an old lady? Yet she vowed to carry through on the promise.

Eileen rose and embraced Angela. Cupping her face in her sturdy hands, she whispered, “Now you take good care. I’ll be praying for you.”

Tears flooded Angela’s eyes. Aunt Eileen must be thinking the same thing she had earlier—how fortunate it was that she had escaped with little more than a one-year sentence of community service for her drug abuse. Poor Kent served a lifetime sentence….

“Thank you,” she said, smiling. “I’ll take those prayers.”

As she headed for her car, her thoughts drifted to one of the apartments where Ben sat eating pizza with his cousin. How sad. How very sad … She reached into her purse for her keys, and her fingers brushed against something sharp. She withdrew the item—a small, folded square of paper.

A chill struck. She knew what it was. A phone number. For Gary. Dropping her purse, she tore the paper into bits of confetti and scattered them in the gutter. She didn’t need that number. She didn’t want that number.

But what frightened her was the desire that welled up when she’d remembered what calling that number could gain.

She clenched her fists and vowed aloud, “I’m not doing that anymore!” She snatched up her purse from its spot on the ground at her feet, slammed herself into her car, and zoomed for home as if demons were chasing her.

Ben pushed a napkin into Kent’s fist and teased, “Use that thing, man. You’re making a mess.”

Kent threw back his head and laughed. He raised the napkin to his face and swished it back and forth in a jerky, awkward movement. When he dropped his hand to his lap, the pepperoni grease had been cleared from his lips and mustache. A bit still shone in the chin whiskers of his beard, but Ben knew he’d get it cleaned up in his shower.

“Good stuff, huh?” Ben asked as he took another bite.

“Ye–es, good …” Kent’s face contorted as he formed the words. He patted his stomach. “Full.”

Again, Ben resorted to teasing, a throwback to their junior high days when zinging one another was a sign of affection. “No kidding! You ate three-fourths of that thing by yourself.”

Kent’s laughter lifted Ben’s heart. As boys, growing up, they’d been more like brothers than cousins. They’d played on the same Little League team, been members of the same scout troop, and rarely spent a Friday night without a sleepover. They’d had pillow fights and arguments over girls and quizzed each other for spelling tests. Best friends—inseparable. Until the accident that claimed both of their fathers’ lives. After that, things had changed.

Ben swallowed his pizza, a lump in his throat making it difficult. If only Kent had known the Lord, he would have sought comfort in prayer rather than in drugs. Ben understood why Kent had turned to alcohol and drug use. The pain of losing a father was a pain too heavy to bear without help. Kent had found his “help” in the most hurtful way available. And it couldn’t be changed now. Ben just had to pray that somehow God would use Kent’s disability for someone’s good.

He leaned forward and tapped Kent’s bony knee. “Hey, want to go down to the workout room?”

Kent’s eyes lit up. “Go … pump iron.”

Ben nodded. “Yep. Let me throw this stuff away.” He reached for the empty pizza box and crumpled napkins.

“No!” The word burst out, anger twisting Kent’s face. “My apartment. I … clean up.”

Ben raised his hands in surrender, a smart-alecky grin on his face. “Yes, sir! You clean up, sir!” He did his best private-to-sergeant imitation.

The anger faded as quickly as it had flared. Kent laughed. Calm again, he said, “You cook … I clean up.”

Ben remained seated on the edge of the sofa as Kent gathered the napkins and stacked them in the pizza box. He battled to close the lid, and Ben grabbed his own knees to keep from helping. Ben knew Kent needed to exercise every bit of independence. No matter how hard it was to watch his cousin struggle, he wouldn’t interfere.

Finally, after a few frustrated grunts, Kent managed to get the lid closed, trapping the napkins inside. With a triumphant grin, he placed the box in his lap then wheeled his chair to the kitchenette and dropped the box into the waste can.

Spinning around, he crowed, “Ready … to pump … iron!”

“Got your key?”

Kent patted his jeans pocket.

“Then let’s go.” Ben opened the apartment door and waited until Kent rolled through before giving it a slam. He poked Kent on the shoulder. “Wanna race?”

Kent’s determined scowl reminded Ben of when they were twelve and Ben had issued a challenge. Ben knew Kent remembered little of those days—the overdose had stolen the majority of his memory—but Ben remembered. He knew Kent would lean forward, stick the tip of his tongue out between his lips, and squint at the finish line—in this case, the elevator doors.

“Okay,” Ben said, getting into position with a hand on his knee. “Ready, get set … and go!”

Ben could have won easily, but he deliberately stayed one pace behind the wheelchair. Kent’s raucous hoot of satisfaction was all the reward he needed.

“Awwww!” Ben feigned disgust, slapping his thigh. “You got me again.”

Kent pointed at him with both index fingers, his face creased in a huge smile. “I got you…. I got you….”

Ben thumped his cousin’s shoulder. “Way to go, man.” He poked the elevator down button then crossed his arms, pretending to mope. “Well, I’ll get you in the workout room. You won’t lift more weight than me.”

With sparkling eyes, Kent shook his head and raised his fists as if showcasing his muscles. “I will … beat you.”

The elevator doors slid open. Ben gave Kent’s wheelchair a push. “We’ll just see about that.” As they rode toward the lobby, suddenly Ben wondered about Angela. Would she still be down there? He hoped not. If she looked at Kent the way she looked at the clients of New Beginnings, Ben was fearful of how he would react.

“Amen.”

Angela added her voice to the others who echoed the close of the final prayer. The naturalness of the act gave her a feeling of warmth and acceptance she wanted to savor. Lifting her face to meet Ben’s gaze, she smiled.

“I really enjoyed the service, Ben. You were right—this is a great church.”

Ben’s shoulders lifted in a shrug, shifting his tie. He smoothed it back into place as he said, “The Holy Spirit is here. You can sense it.”

“Yes, you can.” Angela allowed her gaze to sweep around the room, observing the small groups of chatting congregants. Despite the simplicity of the block building and the essence of grease that lingered in the air, no one seemed in a rush to leave. All appeared at home and comfortable in the makeshift sanctuary.